Professional Documents
Culture Documents
DOCTOR WHO
THE NIGHTMARE FAIR
Based on the BBC television series from the untelevised script by
Graham Williams by arrangement with BBC Books, a division of
BBC Enterprises Ltd
GRAHAM WILLIAMS
A TARGET BOOK
published by
The Paperback Division of
W. H. Allen & Co. PLC
A Target Book
Published in 1989
by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen & Co. PLC
Sekforde House, 175/9 St. John Street, London EC1V 4LL
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of
trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated
without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar
condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter One
The scream was choked off halfway through, to be followed by
hoarse, panting gasps. A dull crash and a scuffle came one after the
other and then there was silence.
Nothing moved. Nothing visible. The shadow of a cloud
passing the moon dulled the scene for a moment, but when the
shadow had gone, nothing had changed. The tarmac stretched,
glistening in the recent rain, the wooden walls of the building loomed
up into the black night sky and the dull, dirty windows grinned down
like empty eye sockets...
The scream started again, then changed abruptly to a grunting
sound, panting, rasping with exertion. The wooden door smashed
back on its hinges as a man crashed out and fell to the ground. He lay
for a moment, stunned or exhausted, then half-shook his head and
turned to look back into the building. Through the open door could be
seen a glow—a softly, gently pulsating glow, the red colour burning
and tearing at the edges as though testifying to the tremendous power
of whatever was the source of the light, a dull, aching red light...
The man's face contorted in terror as the glow deepened,
brightened, deepened, brightened... He made as though to rise and he
started to scream again, a low, broken wail as he realised his leg was
trapped by whatever was inside the building. The wail took on a
desperate, despairing edge as he felt himself being dragged back,
back, until, as his last broken attempts to hang on to the door frame
proved useless, the cry rose to a pitch of absolute terror and he
disappeared from view. The red light rose to a new intensity and
locked, the pulsing frozen as the scream was cut off as though by a
knife.
The silence was complete and the red light faded slowly,
gently, away, returning the scene to the black of the night and the
empty, scudding clouds across the moon...
The young man, for the hundredth time, let his gaze wander up
from the bare table where he was seated to the simple clock on the
wall. Two whole minutes since the last time he'd looked. His gaze
carried on, over the grey plain walls, the neon striplight, the plain
chair in the corner. He'd been in Police interview rooms before,
several of them, and he couldn't tell one from the other. Perhaps that
was the idea. He didn't have much time for your average criminal,
and, truth to tell, didn't have much time for your average copper
either. And as for your average Police Station... He'd never had much
to do with any of them, not until the last few months anyway, and he
was too young and too bright to try and unravel the thinking that
went behind the design of anything to do with authority.
At last he was distracted by heavy footsteps outside in the
corridor, footsteps which came to a shuffling halt outside his door.
The door opened to reveal the moon-faced but not unkind constable
who had been humouring him for the best part of the morning. The
constable held the door open for a thick-set man in his late forties,
dressed in what seemed to be a perfectly cut three-piece suit, a man
whom the constable treated as though he were second cousin to the
Lord High Executioner.
'Mr Kevin Stoney?' asked the suited man, politely. Kevin
nodded without replying. The man hefted the thick file in his hand as
he sat in the chair opposite.
'Didn't take much finding, did this, lad. Right on top of the pile.
You're quite a regular visitor to our humble abode, aren't you?'
'Not by choice,' muttered Kevin.
'Well they all say that, lad,' observed the man with a small
chuckle. 'I'm surprised we haven't met before.'
'I've asked often enough,' observed Kevin.
'Aye. "Someone in authority", I believe you stipulated,' added
the man, referring to the top page of the file.
'That's right,' affirmed Kevin stoutly.
'Well, will I do? I mean, I'm only a lowly Inspector, but we
could try the Chief Inspector, or Superintendent, or the Chief
Superintendent—'
'You'll do,' nodded Kevin.
'You sure? Chief Constable's not got much on today, shall I —'
'No that's all right,' replied Kevin, not wanting to rise to the
bait.
The Inspector looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, lips
pursed, then, with a small nod, he decided to get down to business.
'This statement of yours, referring to the events of last night...'
He tapped the statement in the file with a solid-looking forefinger.
'Truthful statement, is it?'
'Yes.'
'Just a simple statement of the facts...'
'That's right.' The reply sounded more defensive than he had
intended. The Inspector took the statement and held it carefully, as
though it was fragile—or dangerous—and read slowly and carefully
from it.
'"The figure was glowing red, with some green or blue at the
edges... about seven feet tall and heavily built... the red colour
seemed to pulsate, giving the impression that the figure was
increasing then decreasing in size. It had no eyes, no ears, nothing I
could describe as a face..." Incredible —'
'I saw it —' started Kevin, gritting his teeth.
'No, no,' protested the Inspector. 'What's incredible is that at
this point the sergeant who took your statement failed to determine
whether there were any distinguishing marks on this... person...'
The moon-faced constable attempted, without success, to stifle
a chuckle at this. The Inspector turned slowly towards him.
'This is no laughing matter, lad. One more outburst like that
and I'll have you out in that amusement park every night till dawn
from now until your retirement party.'
The constable, for a split second, didn't know if this was
another example of the Inspector's wit. Wisely, he decided it wasn't,
and straightened to attention. The Inspector turned back to Kevin.
'As I was saying, it was a definite oversight on our part, but I'm
sure you'll agree we shouldn't have much trouble picking chummy
out in the shopping centre, should we?'
'Not even your lot, no,' agreed Kevin. 'But it was the
amusement park, not the shopping centre.'
'Even there, lad,' continued the Inspector, nodding confidently,
'reckon we'd spot him, in time. Mind you, some of the types who
hang round those pinball machines—we might have to form a line-up
at that...'
Kevin decided to let it ride. The Inspector continued leafing
through the file, going a little further back.
'"The figure of a Chinese Mandarin, appearing and
disappearing into thin air..."' He turned more pages. '"Strange lights
appeared about twenty feet off the ground..."' Yet more pages.
'"Strange lights appeared at ground level..."' He closed the file and
placed it carefully on the table. 'So there was nothing unusual about
last night then?'
Kevin returned the calm, level stare, still refusing to rise to the
jibe.
'I mean, it seems to me it were just like any other night you—
er—"find yourself" in the park, eh?'
'Last night the Mandarin wasn't there.'
'No Mandarin,' repeated the Inspector, heavily. He leant
forward, elbows on the table. 'Right, lad. You tell me all about this
Mandarin...'
The Mandarin swept in through the door almost regally, the tall
figure erect, walking in long, gracious strides. The door closed
obediently behind him with the softest of clicks. He crossed
immediately to sit behind the huge carved desk in a huge carved
chair. He paused for a moment, still but intensely alert.
The room seemed to fit around him like a glove—high ceilings
and walls, panelled in English wood though decorated in the Oriental
style of the nineteenth century: heavy brocaded drapes, rich,
ponderous carvings, subdued, almost gloomy lights which allowed
the brilliant colours of the paintings and tapestries to stand out with
three-dimensional effect.
His gaze slowly turned to a large crystal ball, mounted on a
round mahogany base before him. He reached his hand out slowly,
delicately, and, with the lightest touch of his fingers, began to rotate
it. As he did so, the picture on the large viewing screen set into the
wall opposite swirled as though filled with smoke, then began to
swim and clear as the fingers moved and sought their target.
Within moments a recognisable picture emerged. As if from a
very great height, the Blackpool funfair could be seen, waiting in the
weak spring sunshine. The fingers and the picture moved again and
the funfair moved closer and closer, the images growing and passing
as the seeing-eye moved down amongst the arcades, the rides and the
crowds, coming to rest on the unmistakable figure of the Doctor.
The Mandarin removed his hand from the crystal ball with the
same deliberate delicacy with which he had placed it there, and he
settled back in his chair to view the scene, the hint of a cold smile
crossing his aristocratic face...
'He was right by me!' protested the Scotswoman. 'I just went up
to get some change from yon Jimmy up there.' She gestured rather
wildly in the direction of a surly youth in the change booth, who
looked distinctly uncomfortable at the thought of any attention
whatsoever coming his way. 'And then when I turned round, he'd just
gone!'
Kevin had by now managed to edge his way unobtrusively
closer to the woman, through the small knot of people who had
gathered. If the story wasn't the same as his own, it at least involved a
boy who had gone missing in very close proximity to an area which
he knew had more than one secret to hide.
'Look, love,' replied the manager in a heavy Liverpudlian
accent, 'we get all kindsa kids in 'ere. If they're under sixteen and
unaccompanied, out they go.' Kevin looked sceptically at the half-
dozen or so kids under sixteen in the arcade at that moment, and saw
no rush of adults to claim them. 'He could have said he was with his
ma, couldn't he?' continued the manager in his thin whine.
'He wouldnae just go wanderin',' announced the woman
positively. 'He's daft, but he's no' that daft.'
The Doctor apologised to Kevin as he bumped into him, edging
closer to the woman and the manager. 'There's something wrong
here,' he muttered to Peri in a fierce whisper. Kevin's face registered
interest at the remark made immediately behind him.
'That poor lady's lost her child, that's what's wrong,' protested
Peri vehemently.
'No, something else,' insisted the Doctor, 'the whole place... the
whole feel of it...'
The Doctor certainly had Kevin's undivided attention.
'Are you turning psychic or something?' asked Peri, with
approaching alarm. She didn't want to cope with the problems of a
fifth dimension. She'd not really got used to the idea of a fourth.
'Psychic?' the Doctor was taken aback. 'You don't turn psychic.
You either are or you aren't. Unfortunately, I aren't, not much
anyway,' he finished, matter-of-factly.
The metaphysical dimension of the conversation was brought
to an abrupt end by the piercing shriek of the Scottish woman, who
pushed her way through the crowd towards the pasty-faced youth
standing, or rather swaying, at the ehtrance to the arcade.
'Tyrone! Where have you been? I've been goin' nearly mental!'
Tyrone couldn't, or wouldn't, reply. He just shook his head
slightly and had about him the distinct air of one who knows that in
the very near future he's going to be violently and most thoroughly
sick. Mum had leapt to the same conclusion, familiar as she
undoubtedly was with her pale offspring.
'It's all them toffee apples,' she howled. 'That an' all them fizzy
drinks... and this place...' She glared again at the manager, who
shrugged as he must have shrugged a couple of million times before.
'Come on, son, let's get ye home. Och, yer dad's goin' tae be
that mad.' This last seemed little to improve Tyrone's condition, and
with a last baleful glare at the manager the woman ushered her son
outside, presumably back to the vengeful clans mustering even now.
'Well that's all right, then,' pronounced Peri, happily certain
that all was well with the world. The Doctor seemed to be of an
entirely different opinion, for he was not listening, not to Peri at any
rate. Again he was turning his head, this way and that. And again Peri
was both concerned and exasperated. Kevin, on the other hand,
seemed even more interested than before and as unobtrusively as he
could, watched the Doctor intently.
The Doctor swung on Peri sharply. 'You didn't hear that?' he
demanded, a very direct question, as though he was conducting an
experiment in a laboratory.
'Hear what?' asked Peri, helplessly.
'Someone calling my name.'
'No, nothing.'
'Right, not a loudspeaker then,' he announced with quiet
satisfaction. 'A psi broadcast?' he asked, in a reasonable tone of
voice, and answered himself just as reasonably, 'No, impossibly
narrow band... Old-fashioned telepathy then. But so clear, so direct,
so... expert —' He might have continued this quite antisocial one-way
conversation for hours had not he heard the voice again; for he was
off at speed, calling out to Peri as he swept off. 'Come on!'
She had little choice but to follow him, and Kevin, who had all
the choice in the world, hurried out after both of them.
If it had not been for the sense of purpose and the positive
directions he was taking, the Doctor's dogged following of the audio
scent would have looked distinctly odd. As it was, it looked only
slightly odd. Again, he veered this way and that as he picked up a
stronger whiff from one direction than another, sometimes spinning
around to take a different tack altogether, stopping to verify a change
of direction before pursuing it with even more vigour than before. By
now the suspicious look on his face had deepened and passed, as he
became more and more sure that he was being led. For the moment,
until this particular mystery was solved, he was happy to fall in with
whoever was directing his movements. The simple conundrum of
how this effect was being achieved was enough to keep him
reasonably interested. He had time to reflect, however, that if it went
on for much longer he would become extremely irritated, which, as
the whole Universe would witness, was wholly foreign to his even-
tempered nature...
Peri was already irritated enough. Following the Doctor was,
after all, more a way of life than a mere physical proximity, but this
particular gadfly journey was making her dizzy. She stopped herself
several times from calling out to him. What, after all, would she say?
Not, 'Stop'. Not 'What are you doing?' She'd tried them all, and they
none of them worked, not at times like this.
Kevin was following them both as he might have followed
expert archaeologists if he were looking for a city he had lost. These
two were the first characters he'd come across in months who
behaved even more oddly than he did in the funfair. They were on to
something, or they were part of something, which didn't fit in. And
the only other thing that didn't fit in to this particular funfair was the
disappearance of his brother. Put it together and there was a more
than even chance that the two oddities were connected. He stopped
short to avoid bumping into Peri, who had stopped short to avoid
bumping into the Doctor, who had stopped short with an air of
finality to look up at a looming, sinister shape before him.
Towering into the sky, in the shape of an almost life-size
rocket was the latest ride at the fair — 'Space Mountain' was
emblazoned across the hull, which was the front for the body of the
ride behind. Giant tail-fins stretched twenty, thirty feet up, then the
sleek needle shape carried on another hundred feet above that.
With a caution born of near certainty, the Doctor made his way
slowly towards the entrance hatch, approached by a metal ramp up to
the ticket office. As he disappeared into the hull of the spacecraft,
Peri hurried after him, and Kevin after her.
The tunnels the Doctor was walking through had the same
lighting as others in the complex, but the feel of the exposed
brickwork was decidedly Victorian. He'd been walking now for what
he thought was about half a mile and had seen several variations on
the same theme. He had concluded, correctly, that new tunnels had
been added to old, bypassing others and generally developing an
anthill-like feel to the whole construction. He did not award it high
marks for aesthetic value, but then considered that aesthetics were
low on the list of the builders' priorities. Certainly aesthetics were a
long way from the minds of the gentlemen who accompanied him —
one in front, one behind — if their utilitarian cover-alls and snub-
nosed semi-automatic rifles were anything to go by. Comforting at
least to note that the accoutrements were very twentieth-century
Earth technology... He carried on with such idle thoughts as he took
in all the other observations, and had opted for a critical stand-point,
as this came easiest to him, especialy in moments of stress.
'... and, efficient though any service area might be, I do think
you should consider improving your braking system once you've
branched the line. I very nearly flew over the handlebars, you
know...' said the Doctor aloud. The mild admonishment seemed not
to hurt or wound either of the guards and the Doctor stopped to try
and emphasise the gravity of his complaint.
'And that's another thing — those safety bars. Did you know
they've got nasty little bumps and grooves on the top? And the ones
on that wonderful rollercoaster thing too. Now they might well
enhance the design features...'
Whether they did or not seemed not to interest the guards.
They were probably weak on design theory and probably always had
been, for the one behind simply prodded the Doctor with his
automatic until the Doctor took the hint and started walking again.
The Doctor was not so easily distracted from his self-appointed
mission to inform and educate, for he continued in the same patient
vein.
'Did I ever tell you about my design theory?' There was no
response from the guards, but the Doctor suspected that he had
indeed not let them in on it. He decided that in the interest of the
pangalactic dissemination of knowledge through culture, now was as
good a time as any. 'It mainly concerns the fluid lines provoked by
the ergonomic imperatives...'
The tunnel door in the Data Room swung open and the security
guard entered, closely followed by the Doctor and the other security
guard. The Doctor took one look at the computers and analysers and
whooped with glee.
'Oh, I say! How much is it to go on one of these?' He started
forward towards the closest terminal and was pounced on by the two
guards. Stefan took a couple of steps closer, apparently not at all
pleased that the machines were being equated with the games
upstairs. His opinion of the wild-eyed multi-coloured freak in front of
him evidently dropped below zero, for he fixed him with his most
disdainful look as he ordered the guards.
'Take him to his quarters. Our Lord is not yet ready to receive
him.'
'Your Lord!' exclaimed the Doctor. 'That's either very religious
or very subservient, and you don't look the religious type...' Which
wasn't, strictly speaking, true, as the Doctor would have been forced
to agree under different circumstances. Stefan looked definitely
religious, in a cold-eyed, fanatic way, much the same as perhaps
Rasputin might have done. Signalling both his disagreement and his
impatience, Stefan snapped his fingers at the guards who proceeded
to bear the Doctor away.
'Oh, I say, steady on, no offence and all that —' the Doctor
wailed to no effect as he was carted off. Stefan's lip curled in a classic
gesture of contempt. Clearly this clown was no match for the
impeccable skill of his Lord.
The Doctor looked down at the flap at the bottom of the door,
and the little shelf below it and pondered for a moment as to what
purpose it might serve. Before he could come to any useful
conclusion, the guard shoved him rudely further down the corridor:
three doors further down, to be exact. There was a flap but no shelf
on his door, he noticed, as the other guard opened it up with an
enormous and intricate key. Definitely neo-Gothic, decided the
Doctor with a measure of satisfaction. He had no further time for
reflection before he was pushed into the room.
'Can't you just say please?' he snarled at the guard, who simply
slammed the door from the outside. The Doctor looked around his
cell with a familiarity bordering on contempt. Flagstone floor, damp
brick walls, truckle bed against one wall and a naked bulb hanging
from the ceiling.
'Prison cells,' he snorted. 'Seen one, you've seen them all.' He
turned to shout at the ever-so-firmly-shut door: 'You want to know
my theory about the design of prison cells? They're all made just to
keep little minds out!' The only reply to this somewhat egotistical
observation was the sound of two pairs of boots receding down the
corridor. The Doctor looked briefly around the cell again, noting the
efficiency and reliability of the Victorian construction, and then
remarked, with a note of resignation, 'And big minds quite definitely
in...'
The Doctor bent to his task with renewed effort. Every scrap of
his extra-terrestrial power had been brought to bear on the problem in
hand, and if this didn't work, then nothing would. Even the highest
intellect and deftest hand could do only so much, and there were the
Universal Laws of Time and Space which gave way to no being,
great or small.
He looked again at the massive lock and looked again at the
bent hairpin in his hand. Facing up to reality, for once, he adopted a
far more constructive course of action by crossing over to the bed,
lying down on it, and trying for forty winks.
Peri and Kevin crept round the next corner with a great deal
more circumspection than when they had raced round the last. Here
as well there was evidence of reconstruction, though in this instance
of a heavier, more basic nature. The tunnel wall was being bricked up
— what looked like an old spur was blocked off — and the new
bricks stopped short of the roof by a foot and a half. At the foot of the
new wall was a pile of bricks, bags of mortar mix and a wheelbarrow.
Using this as cover, they gratefully sank down for a moment's rest,
Kevin keeping a careful eye on the tunnel behind them, his acquired
gun at the ready, much to Peri's concern.
'You all right?' she asked.
'Yeah, it just nicked me. I never been shot at before,' he
announced with something approaching satisfaction. The lesson on
ricochets had been pressed home at first hand, so to speak.
'Have you ever shot at anyone else before?' asked Peri, getting
to the heart of the matter in one.
'No,' replied Kevin, making absolutely no bones about it.
'I didn't think so,' muttered Peri.
'I thought I did pretty well, first time out,' Kevin said,
defensively.
'You nearly shot everyone in sight, first time out,' Peri pointed
out. 'You and me included.'
'Don't knock it,' he muttered. 'It worked.'
'It did that,' agreed Peri, cheerfully. 'You want me to look at
that?' She gestured at the torn sleeve of his jacket.
'No, it's all right, really,' he reassured her. 'Where are they?'
'Thinking twice about coming round that bend, I should think,'
suggested Peri. 'So would I with Wild Bill Hickock waiting for me...'
She managed a weak smile. 'More to the point, where's everyone
else?' She gestured at the pile of workmen's tools and materials
behind which they were sheltering. There was just enough light for
Kevin to consult his wristwatch.
'Half past knocking-off time,' he offered. 'Doesn't anyone do
overtime any more?'
'Maybe just as well,' replied Peri, 'We don't know whose side
they'd be on anyway.'
'True enough,' agreed Kevin. 'You can bet that lot —' he
gestured down the tunnel the way they'd come — 'won't be on their
own next time. We'd better be getting on.'
'Down there?' asked Peri, looking down the tunnel, which ran
into damp and forbidding gloom further along.
'Not much choice, is there?' Kevin pointed out. 'Come on.'
Keeping a careful eye still behind them, he gently pushed her on
ahead of him.
Kevin and Peri were hurrying down the corridor now, caution
sacrificed to speed. They had both heard men's voices behind them a
few moments ago, and knew their pursuers were not far behind,
emboldened perhaps by the lack of the hosepipe firing from the
fleeing couple. Suddenly Kevin, who was leading now, stopped. Peri
lifted her head wearily and saw why. In front of them the tunnel
branched into a Y.
'What do we do?' asked Peri. 'Toss a coin?'
'Nope,' replied Kevin with an unexplained note of satisfaction
in his voice.
'You're not thinking of stopping and fighting it out, are you?'
queried Peri with a great deal of apprehension.
'Don't be daft,' replied Kevin with a chuckle. 'I wouldn't know
what to do with this thing,' he hefted the gun in his hand.
'There are quicker and easier ways of becoming a collander,'
agreed Peri.
Kevin turned and knocked the gun barrel against another of the
solid iron flood doors, set this time into the side of the tunnel. It gave
a deep but hollow thud. 'Well,' he offered, 'we know what lies down
there —' he gestured back the way they had come — 'and by now
they will have organised something to come down there —' he
gestured at the way they had to go if they stayed with either of the
tunnels in front of them. 'So why not take a chance?'
'I can think of a hundred good reasons,' shivered Peri,
wondering what on earth would be behind the great metal door. The
voices behind them grew louder, and she gripped Kevin's arm tighter,
nodding down the tunnels in front of them, to where the gloom was
now broken by advancing torch beams.
Kevin swung the big cantilevered bolt-action mechanism on
the door, which opened smoothly and easily on well oiled hinges and,
after a moment's look for reassurance at each other, they went
through. The door closed behind them with a surprisingly heavy, and
definitely final, thud...
Chapter Four
Whilst the Doctor's pose might have resembled that of an
Egyptian mummy, nothing else about the Doctor did. Tousled mop of
hair, multi-coloured coat, old and much-loved boots, none of these
belonged in the depths of a pyramid, though that's just where they
might as well be, he mused. He had set himself down to the third
level of banji-rana, one heart slowed almost to a standstill, body
temperature almost three degrees down, respiration normal, and
allowed the twenty per cent of brain function left to him to wander as
freely as it wished. The theory was absolutely sound, and the
resulting washing of impurities from his several subconscious levels
should have done wonders for his powers of concentration, but it
wasn't working out that way and the present state of sublimity he had
achieved was driving him potty. Well, all things are relative, he was
forced to concede. He had missed out a couple of stages somewhere,
he knew, and the end result was nowhere near as relaxing as it should
be. Probably something to do with that infernal pipe rattling, he
thought irritably. Disturbing my concentration, rubbing my aura up
the wrong way. The fact that banji-rana was designed to overcome
exactly such things as rattling pipes, he found deliciously perverse,
which was another sign the trance was not effective, and another very
good reason why, with all the temptations it otherwise offered, he had
never become a transcendentalist.
Curse that infernal pipe! With the money invested in this
tunnel complex, you'd think they could have got a decent plumber...
His eyes snapped open and the second heart tripped in full pelt. This
is not the recommended method of coming out of a banji-rana trance,
in fact for anyone with a normal human physique it was guaranteed
one hundred per cent fatal, but by jove it was fast...
Not a plumber born could have cured that pipe. No water that
ever fell from heaven ever produced that rhythmic tone. The Doctor
listened for a few seconds longer.
'Ask not for whom the pipe clangs,' he muttered, with only a
pitiful gesture of an apology to Mr Donne, as he frantically searched
through his pockets for something to communicate with. He uttered a
small cry of triumph as he pulled forth an ancient pair of nutcrackers.
'The right tool for the right job,' he crowed as he jumped up on
the bed. Hesitantly, he tapped out a short staccato beat of his own
devising on the pipe. Silence. He tried another variation, slightly less
mathematical. Silence. He thought for a moment and tried a bongo
beat he'd picked up with Livingstone. Nothing. At last, reduced to
childish basics he tried a straightforward, no-mucking-about, this-
one's-for-you-baby, one-two-three. Not a peep.
'Not the Abbe Faria then,' he concluded, glumly. Determined to
put on at least as good a show as the Count of.Monte Cristo, he
started tapping again.
All pretence of cool had been cast aside now as Peri and Kevin
hurried through the dim tunnels. The noise of the rest of the mine was
far off now, just the strains of 'Darling Clementine' echoing
tauntingly around them. There had been no side shows for some
distance, just the rough rock of the walls and roof, lit occasionally by
the flickering light of an artificial oil lamp. Ahead of them, the tracks
stretched away through the narrow tunnel, a gloomy bend hiding the
next section from them. They looked around as a creaking sound
echoed over their heads, then a rumbling began which grew, louder
and louder. Distinctly alarmed, they tried to see where the sound was
coming from, but as it grew, it seemed to come from every direction
at once, creaking, shifting, groaning until, with a gigantic crash, a
huge section of the roof in front of them caved in.
Peri gave a shriek and ducked away from it instinctively. Kevin
nobly tried to shield her from the worst of it as they waited for the
crushing force of the roof-fall to bury them.
The rumbling died away. They looked up. The roof timbers
had come to a stop a foot or so above their heads, criss-crossing the
top half of the tunnel, held back as if by magic. By more magic, as
they watched, the timbers gently and smoothly creaked back to their
original position. Peri nearly laughed out loud. It was a fake fall,
meant as an added thrill to the punters as they passed through on the
train. With one breath she sighed relief, and with another cursed the
ingenuity of the ride's designers in achieving so realistic an effect.
They hurried on, looking up at the trick timbers still with some
apprehension as they passed underneath. They rounded the bend in
the tunnel.
Past the fake fall the stunted shadows passed, one, two, three,
four and then two more behind, treading softly, walking just on the
railway sleepers between the lines, none of them talking, nor even
whispering. Grim and purposeful they marched on, none of the
figures over three feet tail...
The top half of the body was shiny carapace, sectioning and
sliding together as the monster swayed in time to its waving
antennae. In the softer, leprous looking lower half, which could have
been all belly, a small mouth, ringed with needle teeth opened and
closed, questing for food as the mandibles on either side, miniature
replicas of the giant claw, seemed to wave in anticipation.
The Doctor backed further away, until with a small cry, he
jerked his hand back once more from the stinging, burning, invisible
wall. He could go no further. A thin chuckle came from the
Mandarin, and what sounded like a jeer came from Stefan. The
creature seemed to sense weakness, for the multi-faceted eyes on
their stubby stalks turned towards the Doctor and the whole revolting
body, two metres across, swung around to face him.
Winner take all, Doctor,' taunted the Mandarin, the chuckle
turning into a dry laugh, then he moved his hand in a curious gesture
and the cell door rematerialised, becoming solid again. The Doctor
raced to the door and slammed into its all too solid mass. In what he
knew to be a futile appeal, he banged frantically on it with his
clenched fist, to be rewarded only with a savage laugh from Stefan.
He spun back to face his opponent.
Giant claw raised in preparation, the monstrosity moved
forward...
Chapter Five
The Doctor's natural curiosity did what no amount of
transcendental meditation could do — it killed his fear stone dead
and gave him pause for thought. He watched the slavering beast
approach and cocked his head slightly to one side. What was it? What
was so odd about it?
Well, yes — discount the half crab half spider and the fact that
it was six feet across. Hardly usual fauna for Blackpool-by-the-Sea,
agreed. Never mind the giant claw or the horrid hairy legs, forget the
eyes on stalks and the mouth. What was so odd?
Ah! No... maybe... Yes, that's it! That's what it is! The claw!
That snapping noise it's making. The tempo it's waving about. Not
exactly Klemperer, it's true, but it's the same jolly old rhythm!
With a single bound the Doctor was up on his bed again,
nutcrackers in hand, as he beat out the rhythm on the pipe. The claw
stopped waving immediately, the beast not bothering to turn its head.
The Doctor beat out another few notes. The beast wavered again.
More thumping, then with a curious sideways shuffle the monster
lurched over to the pipe in the newly revealed cell and started tapping
out the familiar noise of the earlier efforts at communication.
The Doctor slumped against the wall. 'See...?' He called out to
no one in particular, but he was certain the Mandarin was monitoring
every movement in the cell. 'You can talk your way out of anything...'
The Doctor looked down at the pile of flotsam and jetsam from
his pockets with a fixed, almost trance-like stare. The pile was quite
generous, most of it covered with fluff, ranging from a very gummy
jelly baby to the signet-ring of Rasillon. An unpleasant sweetmeat to
the most powerful single object in the known Universes, he thought,
glumly. Typical. He heaved a great sigh, for in the manner of
everyone's ragtag and bobtail, every piece held a story, and there
were suddenly too many memories... He broke off to look at Kevin's
pitiful little collection, hardly able to believe his eyes.
'No transducers?' he stated, flatly. He looked up.
Kevin, seeing the look in those eyes, shook his head guiltily.
Why were there no transducers in his pockets? What the hell were
transducers?
'No elliptical resonators?' Again the headshake. Why oh why
were there no elliptical resonators? What had he been doing with his
life?
'Fuse wire?' asked the Doctor in an agony of desperation.
'It's just not the sort of stuff I carry round with me,' Kevin
answered, very carefully, realising the importance of what he was
saying, 'even if I knew what it was...'
'And look what you do carry with you!' The Doctor waved a
hand in total dismissal at the little pile on the bed — a few coins; a
bus ticket, a more than usually clean handkerchief. He was trying not
to be too harsh, but really!
'When I was your age, I had enough "stuff" in my pockets to
build a holo-field scrambler in five minutes flat, and often did!' The
voice was nearing hysteria.
'Why haven't you got what you need now then?' asked Kevin in
as neutral and provocative a tone as he could manage. The Doctor
was about to come apart at the seams with sheer frustration, and
caught himself only just in time.
'One matures...' he announced. He mused for a moment and
then his eyes, with a sparkle, switched to the video machine in the
corner. 'Can you get the back off that thing for me?'
'About thirty seconds,' nodded Kevin, matter of factly.
The path Kevin had found had been winding through the ride
for what seemed like miles to Peri. Sometimes it joined the layout of
the mine proper, sometimes it moved back into other, disused
tunnels. She supposed it must be some sort of service route, but she
hoped for the maintenance crews' sakes they had a bunch of first-rate
maps. They were walking on the opposite side of the railway track
now, opposite a group of miners drinking what seemed to be whisky
in what seemed to be a very determined fashion. Kevin paid them no
attention whatsoever, whilst Peri still viewed them with the deepest
suspicion. They came to a break in the path, as the ride-tracks swung
away to the left to vanish into yet another tunnel, and where there
was a two-step iron ladder set into the wall to take the path along a
ledge and then into a tunnel of its own.
'Can't be much further now,' said Kevin as he offered her a
helping hand to climb the ladder.
'How's your arm?' asked Peri casually as she took hold of his
hand.
'Fine,' he replied. 'Why shouldn't it be?'
'I thought you sprained it.' He frowned briefly. 'When we
escaped,' she added.
'Oh that!' He laughed quietly. 'No, it's fine now.'
'After you,' said Peri, calmly. She motioned for him to lead on,
and then followed him, very carefully indeed...
There was only one change in the data room, but it was a major
one. The tables and chairs which had been at the centre of the room
had been taken out, and whilst the computers still clicked away
tirelessly, pride of place was given to an enormous video games
machine — seven feet tall, as wide as two ordinary machines, with a
huge screen, curving almost from over the head off the player back to
its base. The effect created was that of a head-up display which might
be found on a very sophisticated space shuttle, or a very basic
starship.
The machine breathed shiny and new at everyone who looked
at it, and many were looking at it at the moment. All the senior staff
of the Mandarin's several establishments were there — a dozen and a
half of the finest technological brains in the industry, all in their
white coats, all waiting... The low murmur of conversation died and
floated away as Stefan heralded the entrance of the Mandarin, who
crossed straight to the machine and looked at it with fatherly pride.
'Beautiful,' he breathed, 'beautiful...' There were congratulatory
smiles all round. 'All is well?' he asked of the assembled company.
Yatsumoto spoke for all.
'The prototype performs perfectly, Lord.' He smiled with smug
satisfaction.
'You've tried it?' queried the Mandarin with polite surprise.
'In its component parts, honoured Lord,' modified the
technician, 'there is no error —'
'But you haven't actually played the machine?' The Mandarin's
insistence on an exact answer was no whim.
'I understood that honour was to be reserved for your esteemed
guest — ' Yatsumoto looked around him, unsure of his master's
mood.
'To the victor, the spoils, Yatsumoto. You shall be the first to
play.' He started applauding softly, and the rest of the assembly
joined in. Yatsumoto looked suitably flattered, but as much confused
as anything. He could hardly refuse, and had yet to come across the
western term 'poisoned chalice' in any of his technical manuals, but
he sensed there was something wrong, some hidden purpose in the
Mandarin's offer. Why else the shudder of fear as he approached the
shiny new toy?
Peri was sitting on the bed, glumly holding the antennae as the
Doctor worked behind the games machine.
'That poor old man,' she said sadly, unknowingly echoing the
Doctor's earlier sentiments.
'He'll be all right,' reassured Kevin.
'Depends what you mean by "all right",' muttered the Doctor
from the bowels of the machine.
'Well, they wouldn't hurt him, would they? Not over a stupid
game.'
'If he loses, I shouldn't think he'll feel a thing,' said the Doctor
in his matter-of-fact voice. 'We'll just have to get there before the
game's over, that's all.' His face appeared from behind the machine
for a moment. 'Give me a fork, would you?' Kevin reached one from
the food tray and made to pass it to him. 'A clean one,' asked the
Doctor with a note of exasperation. Kevin hunted through the
discarded cutlery, and came up with an unused fork. 'What did you
train as,' grumbled the Doctor, taking it suspiciously, 'a plumber's
mate?' But before Kevin could reply effectively, he had disappeared
down his electronic warren again.
Peri had been waiting, eyes squeezed almost shut, for what
seemed like most of her life. The antennae were pointed squarely at
the cell door, as the Doctor had instructed, the umbilical cord of the
knitted cable running back to the game machine. The Doctor had told
her to 'stand by' half a dozen times, and after each occasion had
muttered some variation on the 'hang on a tick' theme, and then
rushed to make some adjustment to the electronics. He was behind
the machine now, and her confidence in this very Heath Robinson
affair was dwindling like sand through her fingers. A triumphant cry
from him jerked her eyes open and Kevin, not at all reassuringly,
pulled another pillow from the bed over his head.
'Right,' called the Doctor, and evidently switched on, for a
heavy humming started from the machine, and seemed to run along
the cable and resonate through the antennae Peri was holding, so
much so that she nearly dropped it. She was about to call out in
distress when, to her and everyone else's astonishment, it worked.
The door started to disappear.
The Doctor let out a great 'Yarroo' of success; even Kevin let
out an 'and about time too' sort of approbation, which immediately
turned to a groan. Peri turned her head to see what Kevin and the
Doctor were staring at.
As the door had started to disappear, so had the right-hand cell
wall, revealing the claw-waving spider crab. So had the left-hand cell
wall, revealing a shimmerin electronic mass of sickly pink, held in a
vaguely dog-like shape. So had the back cell wall, revealing a half
man, half robot dressed head to foot in black, with only half a human
face.
Peri screamed and dropped the antennae, which had no effect
on the advancing monsters. Kevin sprang up with a clatter as the
table bearing the food tray went over, which had even less effect. The
Doctor could only stand, stunned, as the monsters moved towards
him...
Chapter Eight
The technicians in the data room were silent now. They knelt
on one knee, bowed in homage to their Lord. The Mandarin drank it
all in, the glint still in his eye as he surveyed them. The monster
stood, motionless, massive, in the centre of the room, next to the
deadly video game that had spawned it. In a modest voice belied by
his imperial manner, the Mandarin spoke:
'Come now, no need for that, we aren't in the Dark Ages now,
not for a while anyway.' He smiled and gestured for them to rise. 'But
the time is coming,' he added softly, too softly for any but Stefan to
hear. 'The time is coming..
Stefan grinned his wolfish grin.
'So I said to the Sar'nt Major, "PF 4963" I said, "I know it's
going to be hell, but I want that kite back in the air by 27.00 hours."
And d'you know what he said to me...?'
Peri shook her head, eyes drooping.
'He said, "Sir," he said "For you —" '
The rest of the reply was lost in a wailing squawk as the
Mechanic moved the electronic hand in a snipping action to
disconnect the android's voicebox. His lips continued to move, and
his eyes moved from one to the other, Peri supposed in some form of
protest at not being able to finish his interminable story. She soothed
him as best she could.
'It's all right "old chap",' she said, 'I think he just needs your
speaker for something...' She turned away to find one of the
Mechanic's eyes moving on its stalk, examining her speculatively.
She moved further away.
'I need all my bits and pieces myself,' she said, nervously. The
Mechanic did not look convinced.
The atmosphere in the data room had changed perceptibly.
There was a sheen of perspiration on the Doctor's forehead, and the
noise from the machine was never-ending. Stefan had edged closer,
but the Mandarin looked on, unchanged and unchanging.
The Doctor was fighting for his life now, the monsters on the
screen coming from every direction, and now from the upper storeys
of the buildings, too. The crunchcrunchcrunch noise had been taken
over long ago, and added to by monsters of a different colour and
size. They seemed more mobile now, more flexible, less monolithic
and less unwieldy. Bending all his concentration to the task, the
Doctor started to free himself.
He sent the front part of his mind forward, and, an inch at a
time, further still, to meet the forces on the screen. Forward, forward,
until that part of his mind was in the screen, amongst the buildings
and the ruins and the burnt out shells. He could sense the broken
glass under foot and smell the burning rubber, hot plastic, hot metal
of the firefight. The monsters came from all directions now, as if
called by his presence, called to attack the intruder. His weaponry
was burning white-hot, red and yellow lines of tracer arcing towards
each threat as it appeared, sometimes before it appeared.
He ducked into a doorway, turning as he went to spray a
window high on his left, blowing a sniper to pieces. Half-rolling his
body, he hurtled out again as another shape drew a bead on him from
inside the building. Firing from the hip, he blazed off down the street,
screams of agony and hoarse yells of frustration following him,
echoing down the deadly canyons of the city streets.
Unseen by him, the score counter spun dizzily, beyond 100,000
beyond 110,000, beyond 115,000...
There was a stunning blow to his side, and another and another.
He turned and fired blindly, and again, and the shells stopped
exploding around him long enough for him to be able to take the next
corner where, before he had time to recover, another of the monsters
was firing at him. He moved back and felt the approach of more of
them there, around the corner, then he roared out again, guns blazing,
but another hit and another threw his aim off and ammunition was
running low...
The Toymaker looked on, though with a faint smile creasing
his mouth now, as he saw the two extra Lives vanish, snuffed out like
tiny candles. And his eyes glinted.
The Mechanic, far from wanting to dissect Peri, had pulled her
gently down to kneel on the floor, where he could help her better.
The claw-arm now held the newly fashioned helmet, and he motioned
for her to put it on.
'Sooner you than me,' muttered Kevin, as the headgear,
resembling a cycling helmet with loose wires and pads dangling, was
lowered gently onto her head. The Mechanic began delicately to
adjust the fit, and to lead what appeared to be pressure-contact points
to very specific and seemingly critical parts of her head. As he wove
the wires carefully, a network started to take shape, almost hiding her
features from view.
Peri held the cap on her head with both hands, which had been
carefully placed there by the Mechanic, who waited patiently as
Kevin plugged the lead into the power point. A power hum started,
which grew rapidly until it was difficult to hear anything else over it.
The Mechanic moved not at all, waiting patiently for the next phase,
for these weird and horrid creatures to play their part. Peri looked
wildly from Kevin to the monster and to SB and back to the monster.
The Toymaker's eye was cast on a far, far distant horizon, lost
in a world vanished aeons ago.
'... and then I grew tired of even creating... ships, cities,
continents, whole planets even. I transported life. I colonised, I
helped it survive and thrive for millenia, hundreds of millenia,
thousands...' His voice trailed off as he remembered, as the bitterness
and the loneliness overcame him. He rounded on the Doctor, his eyes
turning away from the softness of remembrance to the fury of the
present. 'Until I came to destroy, wantonly, wilfully, the same ships,
the same planets I'd helped to create, and that too became too easy
and too empty... meaningless destruction is as appetising as
meaningless creation and just as unfulfilling... Until I found
distraction in the world of games, until I could throw off the pretence
of purpose and meaning, until I too could be a prey to chance and
hazard...'
The glint was back in his eye now, more dangerous than ever
before as it merged with the gleam of triumph. The Doctor, seeing
the difference, whirled round to see the formation of the monster on
the screen, to see it grow larger and larger until the screen could not
contain it. The crunchcrunchcrunch had reached its inevitable
crescendo, and the electronic monster stood outside the machine,
brighter, if anything, and more terrible than before. The Toymaker's
triumph screeched out at last.
'A hazard, Doctor, which you have lost!'
The monster turned and lumbered slowly towards the
transfixed Time Lord.
Peri's eyes were wide open, wide as they could go. Kevin lay
dazed on the floor where a casual by-blow from the Mechanic's claw
had thrown him, the same claw that was now fastening itself
relentlessy around Peri's throat...
'Doctor!' she cried. 'Doctor!' She tried in vain to force the
closing pincers apart. The monster's bulbous veined eyes were scant
inches from hers, an unfeeling, deadly purpose behind them. At the
very top of her voice she screamed with all her might, 'DOCTOR!'
The door barrier was down, and the Mechanic was already
switching off his machine, by the simple expedient of snipping
through the power cable with his claw. He looked vaguely gratified at
the sparks as the circuit shorted, and by then the Doctor was in,
striding over to Peri and helping her remove the helmet from her
head.
'Well done!' he called over to the Mechanic, who, either by
coincidence or through a deeper understanding than he'd let on
before, waved a claw in friendly acknowledgement.
'What about me?' protested Peri, feebly.
'Yeah, an' me,' groaned Kevin, fairly sure this was the sort of
thing the Lord Mayor gave banquets for.
'Don't worry,' replied the Doctor, deliberately
misunderstanding, 'you'll be fine. Now come on...' and with that he
was off again, tearing out of the door and up the stairs again. Not out
through the tunnels to freedom, but back into the Wolf's Lair...
The Doctor spun his head as he heard the dreaded voice once
again. His efforts took on a frantic haste as he turned back to the wall
beneath the tapestry the Toymaker had expressed such interest in
during his previous visit to the room. With a cry of triumph, he tore it
from the wall, reaching behind a control panel to force it away from
its fixings. Behind was a metal cylinder, about a foot long and two
inches in diameter, with wires springing from terminals at both ends.
'Doctor...' the voice began, booming now instead of
whispering, dwarfing the effect Peri's screams had had, crashing
around the room and shattering without discrimination the video-
screen and a priceless Ming vase next to it. Screwing up his face and
tucking his head into his shoulders as if against a hurricane force
wind, the Doctor yanked the wires from one end of the cylinder.
'DOC —'
The voice had the force of an exploding shell, and the silence
was the more shocking as the Doctor yanked the wires from the other
end of the tube. He, then Peri and finally even Kevin breathed a sigh
of relief as the thunder died away.
'Come on,' said the Doctor grimly, 'no more games.' And with
that he led the way swiftly out of the room.